


Play it by ear

by MadamRed, nip-the-cat (venom_for_free)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Background Relationships, Ballet Dancer Yuri Plisetsky, Chris and Phichit are the voices of this fandom, Homophobic Language, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Minor Christophe Giacometti/Christophe Giacometti's Boyfriend, Minor Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino, Minor Phichit Chulanont/Lee Seung Gil, Music, Music and sound design student Otabek, POV Alternating, Threats of Violence, but not really, just neighbors, they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamRed/pseuds/MadamRed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/nip-the-cat
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky drives his neighbors absolutely crazy with his music at full volume but, so far, no one has been able to stop him.College senior and part-time DJ, Otabek Altin, may just be the one to finally bring an end to this problem.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 16
Kudos: 79
Collections: Superfan





	Play it by ear

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that one tumblr post. Yeah, you know the [one](https://super-powerful-queen-slayyna.tumblr.com/post/159532461413/imagine-your-otp).
> 
> Playlist: [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL65wcvO94R3TRh0sT9WI0svSPO0U4Ah0g) | [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4sRsmKwtj9Cz8wcPxUAusU)
> 
> [The fanart included here is by @venom_for_free and this story is part of her Superfan universe. Go check out the collection if you haven't already!]

The moving truck was parked out front, the low hum of the engine reaching their perch thanks to the silence reigning over the complex this early in the morning.

“Struggling DJ?” Chris asked, pointing at the guy’s impressive CD collection and expensive-looking headphones dangling off the open box one of the men was—precariously—carrying. His supervisor yelled at him, and they lost sight of the man a moment later.

“Maybe he’s just a music aficionado? He seems young. College student?” Phichit offered before taking a sip from his coffee mug.

The pair was ‘having breakfast’ outside, their forearms resting on the railing of the second floor veranda as they observed the people coming into the complex with heavy boxes, bags with what they presumed to be clothes, and various pieces of furniture, which looked like the cheap IKEA kind.

“Mmm, too obvious. Recently divorced?”

“Oh, I like that! I could see it... the guy looks scary.”

Chris laughed. “Is that enough to get divorced over?”

“I don’t know, why don’t _you_ tell me?” His friend smirked.

“We’re playing dirty now, huh? See? This is why I don’t like sharing personal stuff with you. And for the record, I wouldn’t know. We’re still technically married.” Chris raised his left hand, the gold band glinting in the sunlight as he moved his fingers.

“Right.” Phichit elongated the _‘i’_ unnecessarily and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we should stop projecting and focus! This is important.”

“You’re insufferable. Why do I put up with you again?” 

“Sorry, you seem to be confused. The word you want is ‘adorable’. And to answer your question, because you obviously need me to plan how to get back together with your hubby.”

Chris snorted and shook his head but didn’t take the bait, and they resumed their blatant attempt at gathering information about the new tenant.

The guy did look young, but it was true his face seemed to be stuck in a perpetual frown—although that could be attributed to the hassle of moving and strangers handling your stuff without much care. Chris guessed he was probably going to be another reserved kind of guy, like the resident doctor down the hall—

“What the hell are you two doing up at... 8 am?” Seung-Gil asked in lieu of a greeting. They looked over at him as he glanced at his watch, eye bags and scrubs matching in their usual blue-ish color. _Speaking of the devil._

“Well, good morning to you too, _mon grand_ ,” Chris greeted and hid a smile behind his practically untouched beverage at Phichit’s silent nod and obvious blush.

Seung-Gil stood next to them, his analytical gaze following the (poor) person subjected to their scrutiny. He raised one of his unkempt eyebrows, sighed, and walked past them to his apartment at the end of the second-floor corridor without another word. After only three months of living there, he seemed to prefer interacting with them as little as possible.

Once the doctor’s Siberian husky barked in greeting, Chris elbowed Phichit’s side lightly and said in a low voice, “You can breathe now, you know?”

“I… I was not expecting that sort of attack this early in the morning!” He touched his cheeks with his free hand as if that would get rid of the light blush, then grabbed onto Chris’s hand, only to put it on his chest, where his heart was doing the equivalent of somersaults within his ribcage. “See? I told you.”

Chris whistled. “You have it _bad,_ _chéri._ _Mes condoléances_.”

“Thanks, I hate it.” Phichit grimaced and took a deep breath before he caught sight of the retreating workers. “Wait, they’re done! We got distracted! Did you see where they actually took his stuff?”

Chris’s eyes darted around. “First floor, for sure…” He listed off the names of the neighbors who lived directly below them. “1A is that dancer, Mila. 1B is that _overly_ -friendly Canadian—”

“You mean JJ?” Chris nodded. “He’s not _that_ bad.”

“He came to my door two days ago, _again_ , asking if he could borrow some milk for his coffee, then invited himself to sit on my couch for half an hour, drinking said coffee and talking about himself the entire time!”

Phichit took a sip from his mug. “Okay, he can be a bit—How can I put this nicely?”

“Obnoxious? Presumptuous?”

“Unknowingly brash.”

“Unknowingly, _sure_. Anyway, 1C is the dancing kitten.” Phichit snorted, and Chris’s lips twitched. Yuri Plisetsky would push them both over the railing and down to the—unforgiving and very much solid—concrete courtyard below if he _ever_ heard them calling him that. “So the only one left is...”

“1D!” they said at the same time, though the excitement over figuring it out was short-lived. Their faces became somber.

“Well, he’s going to end up moving out in a few weeks’ time when he gets a taste of his next-door neighbor’s deafening music, so it’s safe to say this was a complete waste of a morning.” Chris downed half of his now lukewarm cup of coffee.

Phichit eyed the door with the brass ‘2D’ in the middle. “Not entirely.”

Chris scoffed. “For you at least. Me? I should’ve realized our mistake the minute we saw them heading toward the back. The other vacant apartment is literally right next to yours.” He pointed at the first door on their floor, 2A.

Phichit shrugged. “True, but it’s early.” The bastard was obviously happy now that the shock of running into his crush had worn off. “And who knows? Maybe he has something in that CD collection of his to neutralize Yuri’s, uh, taste?”

Chris lifted his mug in the air, inviting Phichit to join him for an impromptu toast. “Here’s hoping then.” 

“Here’s hoping.”

* * *

After a week, it was safe to say that Otabek Altin, the new dweller of apartment 1D, did not in fact have anything in his ever-growing music repertoire to drown out the _loud_ dubstep or metal usually coming from the unit next to his.

Or perhaps the noise-cancelling headphones Chris and Phichit saw when he moved in were proving to be quite useful now.

Either way, they lost all hope of anyone being able to stop Yuri and his listening habits. For such a small, delicate-looking guy, he had a sailor’s mouth and an aggressiveness that scared most people off.

Chris and Phichit had tried to talk to him when he first moved in a year before but to no avail. They had then bet that Seung-Gil would be able to talk some sense into him, but the doctor’s impassive face wasn’t enough. And, in reality, he was usually at the hospital or library so he wasn’t truly bothered by the music, _and_ he often took his dog to his parents’ house for the weekend. Chris had to pay for dinner the weekend they found out the truth.

JJ had recently taken to running in the opposite direction whenever he and Yuri crossed paths. Neither Chris nor Phichit knew what had happened between them and, despite JJ’s tendencies of talking more than was strictly necessary and oversharing quite a bit, he never mentioned it and tended to abruptly end the conversation if anyone tried to bring it up.

At the end of the day, none of the residents could get close enough to Yuri to even _attempt_ to say anything to him… Except for Mila, that was. Thanks to Phichit going to the same gym as her, they learned she and Yuri practiced in the same studio, though they specialized in different dance styles. Unfortunately, though, even she was unable to stop Yuri from listening to music at full volume at 4 pm, three days in a row—Thursdays through Saturdays—and often escaped to the nearby university to stay at a friend’s dorm room.

Their only consolation was that, at least by now, everyone was more than familiar with the schedule.

* * *

By week two, Chris had given up entirely and decided to read after dinner for inspiration, earplugs in place and some white wine. The perfect evening.

As he was about to leave the glass on the coffee table, though, he caught sight of the ring still on his finger. He froze, biting his lip. Should he call him? Was it even okay to call? He had nothing important to say, and they had talked on Monday morning. Was that enough time? It was Thursday evening now. Maybe a text message would suffice—

[ _Fuck!_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBRYDjxsx08)

He jumped, almost spilling wine on his carpet and book. Cursing under his breath, Chris put everything on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch, allowing his heart to settle. They knew the schedule—hence the earplugs—but Yuri seemed to have started late today, lulling Chris into a sense of false security.

_I ain’t got a fucking problem_

Chris closed his eyes. It was going to be a _metal_ kind of evening, apparently.

_I just love to say fuck!_

A trip to a nearby bar might be a better plan than staying in tonight. There would be people around to distract him, music at a more acceptable volume, and enough alcohol in his system by the time he got back that he wouldn’t care about his young neighbor’s disregard for the rules and anyone around him—

[The shrill of a cello](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWEmsUiQELU) interrupted his train of thought.

Chris bolted upright, accidently yanking the earplugs out and losing them between the couch cushions. The first song was still playing, and this new one was not the kitten’s usual music taste. It didn’t seem to come from the unit directly below his, either.

He got up and opened his front door to investigate, only to find Phichit already outside.

“Chris!” Phichit yelled over the two songs now mixing together.

“What the hell?!”

“Don’t know!”

Yuri’s song ended, so they strained their ears to listen carefully to the other one. Since the volume of the second song wasn’t as deafening, they had to walk down the hallway to figure out where it was coming from. They silently approached the doctor’s door. He wasn’t home, but as they shifted closer, the thrumming beat grew louder. They looked at each other with wide eyes before twin grins took over their features.

“Well, well, well. Would you listen to that? It seems the stoic, new tenant has had enough,” Phichit said.

“Apparently so. I think—” [Yuri’s usual boisterous music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5MgVi4LVoo) returned. The kitten was probably royally pissed off at the new neighbor. Chris sighed before remembering his previous escape plan. “Bar?” He had to yell even louder than before.

“Bar.” Phichit nodded, most likely in case Chris couldn’t hear him.

They retreated back to their respective apartments for a quick change of clothes and marched down the street. And despite having to leave the comfort of their homes thanks to the rowdy youngsters downstairs, they were still smiling from ear to ear when they reached their destination.

Something was about to change. They could feel it.

* * *

And something did change; Otabek’s meddling somehow made it _worse_.

It was the next day, and they had apparently come to somewhat of an agreement after the “first battle”—they now took turns, which wasn’t all that bad, obviously. When it was Otabek’s time to choose something, it was typically a lot more mellow or, at the very least, bearable.

However, this little competition of theirs had fueled Yuri’s more combative side and the contrast between the songs made his already questionable music choices seem even more dreadful.

Like the one currently playing… or [blaring](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TokaT9MPLM), rather.

_This is the year where hope fails you_

Chris rolled his eyes as he tried to tune out the lyrics.

It was 5 pm, and he had to work or he would miss his first draft deadline. Did these kids have nothing worth doing _outside_ of their apartments, away from powerful speakers? Chris sighed and adjusted his glasses—and his new earplugs—as the song transitioned to the usual cacophony of drums, guitars, and indiscernible screaming.

Thankfully, it was shorter than some other songs Yuri had listened to in the past. He braced himself for whatever was going to come next but—

[ _I’m looking at you through the glass_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIzDsGyxsQM)

_Quite the change of pace_. Temporarily relieved, Chris started typing, taking full advantage of what was probably going to be a short-lived reprieve.

* * *

“That fucker!” Yuri snapped. The asshole wouldn’t leave him alone! Who did he think he was? He was probably a sad, old dude with nothing better to do than to try to piss him off. Seriously, he _just_ moved in!

He had tried to be polite, okay? He had let the guy listen to a song, however lame and uncool it was, and then it was _Yuri’s_ turn.

But no, the asshole had turned his small act of kindness into a competition, and Yuri did not back down from challenges. No. He would show that asshat with way too much time on his hands what he was getting himself into.

Hell-bent on expanding his music collection, Yuri sat in front of his computer.

* * *

Yuri woke unexpectedly early on Saturday and decided to go for his run, music hitting his eardrums at a loud enough volume passers-by were probably able to hear the lyrics. The playlist he put together the day before was absolutely perfect and he smirked as he remembered some of the titles he had included.

Maybe it seemed petty (as Mila was _kind enough_ to point out when this little competition started) but this was now a matter of putting that guy in his place. It wasn’t like Yuri had enjoyed being kicked out of apartments before because of his listening habits. It was the only way he was able to concentrate and practice his original choreographies in peace. He most definitely didn’t need some sad geezer coming in and potentially suing him for disturbance after all his hard work ensuring no one would complain.

It was just past 10 am and he was already rounding the corner of the park near the complex by the time he snapped back to reality. He slowed to a walk and stretched his legs a bit before heading back.

Yuri glanced at the mailboxes at the front when he arrived; there was an envelope in his. It was a big letter and a package from his grandpa. He tore the letter open and started reading it right there, completely unaware of the stranger coming through the building’s entrance, pushing a motorbike and parking it just outside. He was on page two, a soft smile adorning his face, when there was a light tap on his shoulder. Yuri paused and turned around, his previous expression quickly replaced by an irritated glare.

Behind him stood a drop-dead gorgeous, slightly short but well-built man, clad in a leather jacket and torn jeans, waiting to get to his own mail. Ears buzzing, Yuri mumbled an apology and moved, forgetting to actually grab his package and close his mailbox while he mentally cursed his current sweaty and messy state.

The stranger side-eyed him but shifted forward anyway, taking his correspondences and sifting through them quickly. He walked to the trash can on the other side of the entrance, threw away any junk mail, and put the remaining envelopes inside his backpack.

Yuri, still standing there with his grandpa’s letter in hand, was doing nothing but admiring the way the stranger’s skinny jeans _hugged_ his thighs as he moved and how small his waist was in comparison to his broad shoulders. Overall, the guy looked like _an absolute treat,_ and Yuri was trying to absorb as much as he could before the man zoomed away on that badass motorcycle.

His neighbor walked back, shut the mailbox door, and nodded at Yuri, who at least had enough presence of mind to lift his eyes and offer an awkward nod in return before finally turning around when the man kicked his bike into gear and left. Yuri was about to grab the package and flee to his apartment when he noticed the stranger hadn’t locked his mailbox properly in his haste—probably put off by Yuri’s blatant scrutiny—and it had bounced back open.

Yuri was pushing it closed as much as he could without the key when he actually read the numbers on the box; 1D.

His jaw hit the floor. Yuri grabbed his things and stomped back to his apartment, mumbling to himself and momentarily scaring JJ, who was simply sitting at the edge of the fountain in the middle of the courtyard.

Yuri shut the door behind himself, dropped the package, letter, his keys, and cell phone onto one of the kitchen counters and went straight to the shower.

“How dare he? How dare he be this, this, this…? Forget it!” He couldn’t bring himself to even think the words, let alone utter them aloud. “Who the fuck does he think he is?! Looking like _that_ instead of being the sad, lonely guy he’s supposed to be? Ugh!” He groaned a few more times while the water took its sweet time warming up and undressed, leaving his workout clothes on a heap by the door.

Halfway through his hair routine, however, his traitorous mind started conjuring up images of that… _that guy_ , lounging around in his own place in just sweatpants, putting on music to purposefully piss Yuri off. He gritted his teeth and was tempted to bang his head against the tiles when his dick twitched at the mere thought of what lay underneath those clothes.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispered as he turned the cold water tap to help ease the turmoil of hormones. But, unsurprisingly, it did nothing to extinguish the need creeping through him.

Resigned, he pressed his forehead to the cold tiles and shut his eyes as he lazily gripped himself and reluctantly allowed his imagination to run wild. He pictured himself being pinned against the wall of the shower, the stranger—whose name he didn’t even know—pressing against his back as the water falling between their bodies turned from scolding hot to barely warm while they got lost in each other.

In his mind’s eye, the pants and noises echoing off the walls were only masked by the music playing from Yuri’s speakers in the living room. In his delirious state, though, the songs in the background were more similar to his next-door neighbor’s taste than his own, which was a true testament to how much the guy had affected him in those few minutes of interaction.

Once the water washed away the evidence of what he had done, Yuri stepped out of the shower. Without looking at himself in the mirror, he quickly dried off before putting on his usual loungewear since he had no intentions of going anywhere that day.

Yuri checked his messages and fed his cat before sitting down at his desk to finish reading his grandpa’s letter and finally opening the package. It was mostly filled with snacks he used to love as a child, which his grandpa insisted on sending even though he could buy them himself. Lilia would probably throw a fit if he saw the contents, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass as he unwrapped one of his favorite treats and munched on it—he hoped the vanilla, almonds, and dark chocolate might help rid him of the bitter taste from his earlier activities.

He got up when he finished and went to throw away the wrapper, but one glance at the overflowing trash bin was enough to forget about his practice time for a bit and clean up instead.

A gentle breeze drifted in after he opened the two lonesome windows in his unit, and he swept before mopping the floor. He then took his time tidying up his mess of a desk, as well as folding the laundry he washed two days prior and left in the basket, forgotten at the foot of his bed. Cursing under his breath, Yuri tried to clean off the cat hair all over his many black leggings and t-shirts. Potya must have taken a nap or two—or _ten_ —there given the sheer amount of hair.

Sighing in defeat, he grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys, threw them inside the basket, and walked to the other side of the complex where the laundry machines were.

Yuri pushed the door open with his shoulder and strode into the empty room. He chose a washer at random and was about to put in the needed coins when the door behind him creaked. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a distinct head of red hair peeking inside.

“Yura!” Mila smiled and walked over to where he was standing as he pushed the start button on his machine.

“Hey, hag.” His usual nickname for her now held a certain affection, according to Mila herself. But personally, he didn’t hear it.

“Didn’t you come here a few days ago?” She started separating her clothes into two piles. They texted often and had taken to hanging out as they waited for their laundry to finish. As if they didn’t see enough of each other at the studio.

“Cat hair.”

Mila nodded, clearly needing no further explanation. “Any plans for tonight?” she asked once she finished with her own loads and sat down next to him on the bench in the middle of the room.

“Nothing, really. What about you?”

“Sara told me about this club near the university. A friend of hers invited us, and we were thinking of going today to check it out. Wanna join us?”

Yuri grimaced. “Ugh, not sure I wanna be a third wheel again, Mila.” The last time he had accompanied them, he was left alone a mere thirty minutes into the night when the two ‘friends’ ditched him and went back to Sara’s dorm without even telling him.

“We apologized and promised we wouldn’t do it again! Come on! Please?” She was giving him the full extent of her puppy eyes and, after some consideration, he gave in and nodded. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed while telling him all about the not-so-new club and the incredible DJ, Dark Horse, who was the sole reason the place was so popular among the college students recently.

Yuri hummed at the right moments to not be rude, but he was only half-listening. His treacherous mind was going back to the stranger, imagining what the guy would look like dancing with him in a darkened room, sweaty bodies surrounding them and pushing them against each other as they let themselves be guided by the pounding beat...

He shook his head and pretended to get distracted by his own text messages while Mila tapped away at the screen of her phone at the speed of light, probably telling Sara that he was coming too.

He really needed to get with somebody tonight.

* * *

When evening fell, Yuri was standing in front of the mirror for the third time in less than half an hour. Wasn’t the outfit a bit much? The jeans were sitting low enough on his hips that a bit of his underwear was showing. And the top, well… the top had been an addition from Mila’s own wardrobe after a mix-up at the laundry room. She claimed looked better on him anyway, he just never found an opportunity to wear it until now.

Mila had shown her approval with a thumbs up and a few fire emojis when he sent her a picture earlier, but now he was second-guessing himself. He really wanted to look desirable… and maybe, _just maybe_ , he was standing in front of his mirror—which _oh so_ happened to be hanging between his window and door—to see if he could casually ‘run into’ his neighbor when he went to pick up Mila.

But unfortunately, he never saw his neighbor come back after their brief (and awkward) encounter that morning. The guy was a complete mystery to Yuri, and the whole idea just seemed to make him all the more enticing.

Yuri bit his lip before saying _‘fuck it’_ and grabbing a few essentials. He said goodbye to Potya after making sure her food and water bowls were full and locked the door behind himself. He was still gnawing at his bottom lip when he knocked on Mila’s door, a bit scared. Yuri had never felt this _immediate_ kind of attraction towards someone else in all nineteen years of his short life. He knew absolutely nothing about the man, and yet, deep inside, he was desperate for him.

By the time they arrived at the university, Yuri was blaming his sudden and wild fantasies on his non-existent sex life. Deciding not to dwell too much on it, he stepped inside Sara’s dorm and poured himself a drink as soon as it was socially acceptable to do so.

People came and went as he refilled his cup a few more times and socialized—mostly with Mila and Sara. When it was time to leave, there was a pleasant buzz running through his body that made him laugh a little bit more easily as they walked the ten blocks separating the university from the club.

True to what Mila said, the queue outside the place stretched as far as the eye could see.

“Shouldn’t we have come earlier?”

“Don’t worry, my friend put me on the VIP list,” Sara replied with a smile and a wink as they made their way to the bouncer at the front of the line.

They were allowed in almost immediately, which earned them a few yells from the impatient crowd.

On the inside, the club was pretty normal looking: there was a bar along the right wall, a DJ booth to the left side on a higher platform, and the bathrooms were directly opposite the entrance. The only detail that caught Yuri’s eye were the two poles on the dance floor. Mila had forgotten to mention those.

As they elbowed their way towards the bar, though, the current DJ announced he was about to leave for the night and the crowd started cheering.

“Is that the dude you mentioned?” Yuri asked when they reached the bar and sat down to order.

“Nah, they’re cheering cause Dark Horse is next,” Sara answered while Mila talked to the bartender.

After downing some shots, they went to the middle of the dance floor just as the new DJ took his place, and Yuri’s jaw dropped for the second time that day.

Standing in front of the turntables was _his neighbor._ The asshole who wouldn’t leave him and his music alone! The one who obviously was making a name for himself in the scene from the unexpectedly loud reaction of the club-goers.

“There he is! Woo!” Sara joined in on the cheering, quickly followed by Mila, while Yuri stood there, frozen among the now rowdy crowd.

“Mila! What the fuck? That’s our neighbor!” He tried to yell but his voice was drowned out completely by the beat dropping. He scoffed and was about to return to their previous spot at the bar when Mila grabbed his arm and started pressing herself against his front, with Sara on her other side.

With a roll of his eyes, Yuri decided that this guy was _not_ going to ruin his night out with his friends. And after a second, he closed his eyes, letting his body follow Mila’s rhythm, surrendering himself to the music. If he kept his eyes shut, he could picture anyone else in the booth and just go with the flow. Despite his classical training, he had delved into many styles thanks to Lilia’s diverse classes at the studio, including…

He eyed the poles on the other side of the room for a second before shaking his head and turning, his back to Mila as they reversed their positions. He was not going to make a fool out of himself tonight, not in front of that guy. No way.

But as the night progressed and the DJ announced he was going to take a short break before his last few songs, Yuri realized they were now much closer to the pole that was nearest to the booth. He looked over at the girl trying (and failing) to climb it when Mila elbowed him after Sara went to say hello to the DJ by herself.

“Why don’t you show us what you’ve got?” She had to stand on her tiptoes despite her heels to talk directly into his ear.

“What?! Why would I?”

She shrugged, the movement jostling his arm. “I don’t know? Maybe cause you’ve been stealing glances at both the pole _and_ a certain neighbor of ours?”

Yuri swiveled his head to look at her; Mila’s arms were crossed and one of her brows was quirked.

_Busted._

“Look, it’s not what you—”

“Hey, I’m back.” Sara returned, and Mila’s attention was gone. He sighed as his two companions exchanged a few hurried words before the DJ took his place again.

Distracted by the man’s deep voice when he spoke into the microphone, Yuri almost tripped when Mila and Sara pushed him toward the dance pole. “What the fuck?” he half yelled. Even if they couldn’t hear him, they were able to read his lips and the anger on his face.

“Come on!”

“Show us what all that training has done for you, Yura!”

He rolled his eyes and was about to just _leave_ altogether [when the next song came on](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-1IQYn7UXE). Sara and Mila whooped again before disappearing into the crowd, leaving him to his down devices. Again.

Yuri bit his lip and glanced at the booth—the DJ seemed to suddenly look in the opposite direction. As if he’d been watching... It was now Yuri’s turn to raise an eyebrow. His interest piqued, he decided to check his theory.

He walked toward the dance pole, a plan quickly taking shape, and waited until the girl that was still trying to climb it was escorted away by one of her friends, who nodded at Yuri. 

Circling the platform, he took a deep breath—he had nothing to aid his grip so he was a bit nervous—and climbed halfway up the pole. He tried a few simple poses to warm up and gain some confidence and was rewarded with a few claps and catcalls by the people who had been around the previous girl. Yuri smiled and switched from one pose to another, the figures he was creating with his body becoming more challenging before climbing up one more time to attempt a final pose: a lean back.

He got down from the pole and sauntered away, an extra sway in his hips that did not go unnoticed by some of the onlookers—which he hoped included a certain DJ up in the booth.

By the time Yuri got away from the crowd he garnered thanks to his short performance, he had completely lost his friends. He texted Mila first, then Sara, but got no reply from either of them. After a quick sweep around the place, he stepped outside to see if they were waiting for him there now that Dark Horse had finished his set.

In the street, however, there were only unfamiliar faces. Cursing, he leaned against the wall of the club and tried calling Mila, only for it to go straight to voicemail. After his third failed attempt, he waited until the beep.

“Hag! Where _the fuck_ are you? Do you think this is funny? Dragging me here, not telling me the whole truth, then bailing on me, _again_?! Thanks for nothing, Mila. This is the last time you do this, do you hear me? Have fun with your _friend_.”

He was panting by the time he finished the call. Pocketing his phone, Yuri took a breath to calm himself a bit before walking to the corner to try to hail a taxi.

But his attention was quickly stolen from the road when a man grabbed his arm and spun him around, flinging Yuri’s body like a ragdoll. Yuri hissed, about to give the guy a piece of his mind, when he noticed the dude was easily an entire head taller than he was. He was broad in a way someone who ate well and worked out was, not just muscle mountains on his limbs but far from being all fat, too. One of those gorilla guys that would laugh about him during PE because he didn’t fit into their understanding of a proper man.

And again, his gender seemed to be the problem. Words about ‘taking you home, baby girl’ and ‘showing what you can do with those hips’ were slurred in his ears, accompanied by the smell of cold ash. Yuri squirmed against the binding grasp, but the guy kept hissing and murmuring about the things he wanted to do, and with every word, his grip tightened.

Just when Yuri wondered if he would have to scream for the bouncer, hoping against hope he would be able to tame the disgusting pig pressed to his ass, a voice carried. “Шығасың ба?!” Yuri whipped his head around, and there he was: his knight, the DJ from before, now with a half-zipped backpack hanging from his shoulder and a livid expression. He was already leaving his stuff on the ground and pushing up the sleeves of his leather jacket, apparently not willing to get pig blood onto them.

The dude behind Yuri hissed and growled, spitting out, “What, do you want your girlfriend back?”

“Сігіл, Иттің баласы!” Yuri frowned. That wasn’t Russian, but it was familiar enough. Dark Horse seemed to barely realize he was cursing in another language, too focused on the dude that was now slowly easing his grip on Yuri.

“The fuck do you want?”

“Let my boyfriend go, fucking asshole, or you’ll find out what it feels like to swallow your teeth!”

 _Wait, his boyfriend?_ Yuri was about to protest, but before he could utter a word, the dude shoved him into Dark Horse’s arms.

“What? Disgusting fucking cunt, you’re a guy?”

Yuri was caught almost effortlessly, pressed against a warm and wide chest. He rested his head against firm muscles, even though he was proud and wanted to say something. No chance, though. A glove-clad hand settled over his ear and against his cheek in a mock caress. “Fuck off before I teach you some manners.”

The dude growled again, once more looking like an angry ape, but eventually, he turned around and pissed off.

Yuri pushed off his savior’s chest and made eye contact with the man. “I could have handled that myself.” He expected a clever retort, something proud or demeaning or snappy, but the guy stepped back and nodded.

“I’m sure you could have. It’s just… he has to learn people won’t stand by and ignore it if he threatens others. You can protect yourself, but maybe someone younger or less fierce wouldn’t be able to.”

“You… you think I’m fierce?” Heat pooled in Yuri’s belly. He turned so Dark Horse wouldn’t be able to see the almost shy blush that crept into his cheeks with enough warmth to burn him.

“Super fierce. Yes. Uhm, can I… take you home to make up for my interference? I didn’t mean to insult you. I wanted to… help.” Yuri nodded. Fuck. Being taken home sounded like a dream right now. “Okay. I will just… get my things?”

There it was; an expensive computer without a doubt was peeking out of the half-done zipper, abandoned in the blink of an eye to help him. Yuri walked over and closed it before picking it up himself. It may have been a small gesture, but it was the least he could do for his mysterious neighbor.

“So, where to?” Yuri tried to appear nonchalant while adjusting the straps of the backpack, an excuse to occupy his slightly shaking hands.

“This way.” The man started walking in the opposite direction of the club, and Yuri followed, unsure if he should say something else. “My name’s Otabek Altin, by the way.”

 _Right, names._ He mentally slapped himself. He needed to get a grip. “Yuri Plisetsky,” he said, his tone clipped.

The guy, Otabek, hummed but didn’t add anything else. The atmosphere was tense, _charged_. Was he the only one who felt it? Clearly, neither was going to acknowledge their meeting earlier that day, and Yuri wanted the ground to open up right there and swallow him.

It was _ridiculous!_

If someone had told him that morning that the man he had ogled would not only be his unbearable neighbor, but also the same person to help him get away from that pig, he would have laughed until he had no more air left in his lungs.

He tapped his foot while they waited for the traffic light to change at an intersection and took the opportunity to look at his companion out of the corner of his eye. Otabek was trying—and failing—to stifle a yawn with the back of his hand. He seemed unbothered by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Ugh, it was so unfair that he managed to look hot even now! What was Yuri supposed to do here? Yeah, sure, he’d wanted to run into the man originally but...

The pedestrian light finally turned green, and they resumed their walk, the heavy silence hanging over Yuri’s head. Lost in thought, he kept a brisk pace and was forced to slow down for Otabek’s shorter legs to catch up and actually lead the way.

After having to jog for the third time in a row, Otabek spoke up while they waited to cross at the next corner. “Sorry about this, by the way. You probably want to get home as soon as possible... considering what happened. I should’ve mentioned I left my bike a bit far away.” He scratched the back of his head.

Yuri hesitated. The other man’s face showed it was a genuine apology, and here he was, ignoring Otabek completely after he had stepped in and selflessly helped him. “No, I mean... That’s-that’s fine. I don’t mind.” He shook his head for emphasis. Should he have smiled instead?

“If you say so.” Otabek shrugged, silence settling around them again for the remainder of the—never-ending—six-block walk.

They finally made it to a small parking lot, nestled between two modest-looking buildings. Otabek spoke with the man sitting inside the tiny office at the front, but Yuri couldn’t discern if the words they exchanged were in that foreign tongue the DJ used earlier.

After a minute or so, Otabek was given his keys and black helmet. He shook the man’s hand, then gestured for Yuri to follow him to the back where his bike was parked, despite the place being basically empty. When they reached the bike, Otabek made quick work of the net which held a spare helmet.

“Here.” He handed the extra one to Yuri before climbing onto the bike and putting on his own. Fumbling a little with the straps, Yuri secured the helmet and sat behind the DJ, his hands resting lightly on his leather-clad shoulders. “You _might_ want to hold onto me a bit tighter than that,” was all the warning Yuri got as Otabek turned the key in the ignition. The rev of the engine startled him, and Yuri instinctively wrapped his arms around the other man’s torso. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

A few minutes into the ride, Yuri realized what an awful mistake he made with his outfit; he wasn’t only cold now but Otabek’s leather jacket was also sticking uncomfortably to his bare skin every time he moved.

They were half a block away from their apartments when Otabek suddenly parked the bike.

“It’s late, we probably shouldn’t make that much noise,” his neighbor offered as an explanation.

“Right.” Yuri let go of Otabek, his skin peeling back from the other man’s body as he climbed off the bike. Confused, he took off his helmet, looked down at himself, and groaned. Angry red lines adorned his front from where the leather had stuck to his skin.

Otabek took off his own helmet and looked over at him. Yuri raised his eyes, a curse or two ready to spew out of his mouth, but the ghost of a smile lingering on the DJ’s features made Yuri’s expression fall flat. It was clear he was trying very hard to be polite and not laugh at Yuri’s messy, tangled hair and comical state.

It was a miracle Yuri didn’t spontaneously combust from the embarrassment coursing through him.

Unsure what to say, he turned and stomped away, trying to put as much distance between them as physically possible. Otabek cleared his throat, but Yuri continued walking, the other man’s footsteps and the crunch of the tires against the pavement the only signs that he was following. But it at least gave Yuri some time to compose himself.

Yuri was almost at his door when the kickstand of the bike hitting the ground made him look back; Otabek was jogging up to him from the opposite side of the courtyard. He stood between their two apartments and waited for the other to catch up.

“Thank you... I guess? For tonight, I mean,” Yuri told him as Otabek opened the door to his unit before accepting the helmet and backpack from him.

Otabek shrugged, an easy smile appearing on his face and taking Yuri by surprise for the second time that night. “Don’t worry about it. It was nice to meet you, Yuri.”

“You, too.” Yuri’s own lips quirked up at the corners, his earlier frustrations slowly washing away, a pleasant feeling settling in his belly instead.

Otabek nodded at him and went inside his apartment, the click of his door echoing in the quiet of the courtyard just as a plan started forming in Yuri’s mind. He opened his door and went straight to his laptop, determined to make up for that night’s fiasco.

* * *

To their surprise, the battles—as Chris and Phichit had labelled their neighbors’ musical interactions—transitioned into something different as weeks three and four of Otabek living there rolled in.

At first, Chris thought nothing of it as the days went by. He finally sent his first draft to his editor and he became distracted by the increasing number of texts from his husband and the added bonus of phone calls. Which was exactly why he was stirring some sauce for his pasta as he talked to Masumi on speakerphone one Friday evening. Chris was laughing at something Masumi said about his boss when [a dark, powerful beat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jlrKXtCOI8M) disrupted their conversation.

“Ah, it’s time already,” Masumi commented.

Chris turned off the stove, grabbing the phone to speak directly into it in a futile attempt to keep talking, and sat down on the armchair next to the window. “Ever since the new neighbor got here, the kitten has been… well, basically _hissing_ at him.”

“Just when you think it can’t get any worse, right?”

“Yeah…” Chris trailed off.

They tried to continue with their earlier conversation, but having to repeat themselves and yell every two sentences made it almost impossible.

“So…” Masumi started and Chris suppressed a sigh. This was probably going to be the end of their call. “Should we continue this tomorrow?”

He smiled sadly, even though Masumi couldn’t actually see him. “Yes, I think that might be best.”

“Good, good. By the way, are you free tomorrow night? I have these two tickets for that play you’ve been dying to see.”

Chris got up from his seat. “What?! _How?_ They were sold out until February the last time I checked!” The clear, childlike excitement in his voice made Masumi laugh on the other end.

“Well, let’s just say I have my ways…”

“You dirty—” Chris was interrupted as Otabek retaliated with [“Need you tonight” by INXS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F93ywiGMDnQ).

“Oh, I _love_ that song!” Masumi said and started singing without a care in the world, as adorably tone-deaf as always.

Chris shook his head and joined in every once in a while for the chorus, their voices blending horribly. As he sang, however, he realized that the lyrics were… not Otabek’s usual style.

Masumi hung up soon after the song ended, and Chris returned to his half-cooked dinner, already planning what he was going to wear the following night and filing away his observations about his neighbors to ruminate on at a later time.

* * *

Yuri’s plan—which consisted of slowly changing the vibes of the songs with a carefully curated playlist—was working smoothly. The fact that Otabek caught on almost instantly meant this wasn’t just a silly game they were playing anymore. They were now _conversing_ through song.

When Yuri had finally gone to bed that previous Saturday, he thought his choices were a bit… straightforward and obvious. Desperate, even. But now, as he danced around his tiny living room to [Queen’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zO6D_BAuYCI) thanks to Otabek, he was convinced they were on the same page.

Yuri smiled as he got closer to his laptop, ready to press _play_ on [“Magnetized” by Garbage](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcfOmhGJ8G4). He was sure Otabek was going to be knocking on his door very soon.

It was just a matter of waiting from here on out.

* * *

And he waited alright.

An _entire_ _week_ came and went, and there was no knock on his door.

The routine was getting a little bit repetitive now. Practice, gym, laundry, video call with grandpa, listen to music, have dinner, shower. Rinse and repeat. The only positive thing to come out of that week was making up with Mila.

Yuri sighed as he flopped backwards on top of his bed. He puffed his cheeks and blew out air, which made his hair rise and fall against his forehead. Potya climbed onto the bed, pressing her paws painfully against his ribcage until she made herself comfortable on his chest; his stillness, an obvious invitation for her to nap on top of him.

He moved the arm that was hanging off the side of the bed and started petting her absentmindedly. She started to purr and it made him smile before he remembered why he was so frustrated just a moment ago.

It was 3:30 pm on Saturday, two whole weeks after the club fiasco, and he hadn’t had any interactions with his next-door neighbor other than the increasingly flirtatious messages they sent each other through the thin wall separating their apartments.

He wanted to _yell_ into his pillow. Why hadn’t Otabek made any moves yet? The intentions were as clear as day—if the texts he got from Mila during the past week were anything to go by. At this point, everyone in their small building probably knew what was going on between them.

Yuri glanced at the clock on his nightstand—3:48 pm.

It was time to change tactics.

* * *

Chris’s mouth was slowly working its way down Masumi’s neck as the low music coming from the speakers below the TV on the opposite wall muffled his husband's breathy noises. He grinned. Even after months of being separated, he still knew how to turn his gorgeous Masumi into a squirming mess in a matter of minutes.

After pushing Masumi’s shirt off, Chris’s hands were roaming freely, squeezing the firm muscles around his husband’s shoulders and back, when [the low thrum of Depeche Mode’s bass guitar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KzqWe7uYo_A) burst their bubble.

He sighed as Masumi laughed and said, “I see our neighbor is still as punctual as ever, huh?”

Chris raised his eyes, about to correct him since it actually _wasn’t_ Yuri who was playing that song. 

Once the sentence registered, though, he gaped at Masumi, surprised at the use of ‘our’, while his husband continued to caress his cheek, clearly amused by his reaction. They hadn’t discussed whether they were going to live together in that apartment again or not, so hearing that word made warmth spread through Chris’s chest. He lowered his lips to his partner’s once more, effectively ignoring whatever was (or wasn’t) happening between his neighbors.

Until the inevitable response came from the apartment directly below theirs, that was. Instead of the customary cacophony of instruments they were used to from Yuri, a much more mellow choice on his part—[ _Hozier, really?_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8iOOu-Qsyns)—was the straw that finally broke the camel’s back.

“Okay, that’s it,” Chris proclaimed, getting up. He grabbed his robe from the hook at the back of their bedroom door and threw it on to cover his state of undress. He made a beeline for the door, Masumi’s footsteps following him through their living room and only stopping when Chris stepped _out_ of the apartment and into the very open and exposed corridor. 

“What are you doing?” Masumi stage-whispered as he peeked from behind the front door, left ajar by Chris.

“Putting an end to this, once and for all,” he answered. Masumi parted his lips to speak again, but Chris didn’t wait around to hear what he had to say and turned toward the courtyard. He took a deep breath and held onto the railing before addressing the two unsuspecting people currently cock-blocking him. _“Hey, a-holes!”_ The volume of the current song decreased, so Chris continued. “Could you please stop this _cowardly_ back and forth you have going on for your _and_ everyone else’s sake?”

The music stopped altogether then, but the subsequent stretch of silence meant all those still in the building—who were now curiously poking their heads outside of doors and windows—were going to bear witness to Chris’s eloquent speech.

“Oh, that caught your attention, didn’t it? Well, _good!_ Cause I know _exactly_ what you two idiots are doing with your stupid little songs! So stop sending each other these musical eggplant emojis and do us all a favor; just _fuck_ already, will you?!”

A nearby giggle prompted Chris to turn around. _Phichit._ “Well said, best-selling author!” His friend cheered in a low voice, the phone in his hand aimed directly at him.

Chris’s eyes widened. “You didn’t…” he trailed off, his hesitant tone transforming the sentence into a question. He tied the robe more tightly around his body as he approached his friend with careful steps.

“Mmm, I don’t know, did I now?” Phichit’s eyes were sparkling despite the sunset casting shadows across his face. It looked like a typical scene from a B-class horror movie, right before one of the side characters got cornered and viciously murdered by the _one_ person no one thought was the villain.

Chris swallowed. If that little spiel somehow reached the internet, it would be _bye-bye_ contracts and sponsored deals. And it probably meant that his chances with Masumi would—

_Masumi!_

Chris turned to the door... only to find it shut. He hung his head, put his hands on his hips, and closed his eyes, a defeated sigh escaping him.

While trying to find the courage to go back in and face the music—pun _not_ intended—Masumi opened the door again, donning his own matching robe... which Chris had stored away inside a box in the closet. He was in awe; first, by his husband finding the robe, and second, because he thought he’d have to _beg_ to be let back inside.

Clearing his throat, Masumi marched down the corridor to where Phichit was standing. Chris eyed the pair as Masumi got closer to Phichit and whispered something in his ear, to which the other simply nodded as a response, a nervous expression taking over when he handed his unlocked phone to Masumi.

Chris stared at the scene, gaping at his husband for the second time that day, as he fiddled with the device in his hand for less than a minute, then returned it to its owner, who nodded again and went back inside his apartment as quickly as possible without uttering another word—a first, if you asked Chris.

Masumi turned around and came to stand in front of him. “Shall we go back in?” he asked with a smile before offering his hand to Chris, who took it without hesitation and followed wordlessly. He had no idea what Masumi said to his Phichit, but he was pretty sure his husband had just saved his ass from public humiliation.

When they walked in, his partner let go of his hand and untied his robe, dropping it on the living room floor for Chris to see—and appreciate—his naked back.

“Hurry up,” Masumi said. The command was spoken softly, but the message was loud and clear.

Now, safe in the comfort of his own home, Chris grinned as he kicked the door shut and ran after his husband to hug him from behind just as he was walking into the bedroom. Their combined laughter was enough to mask the very distinct knock which resounded in the now silent courtyard below.

* * *

Yuri sat on the bed, snacking on a few grapes as he mulled over his next question; the rumpled sheets on his lap, the only layer preserving his modesty. He was facing Otabek, who was laying down, one arm draped along his half-covered abdomen, the other behind his head. He was comfortable enough he could easily drift off. His eyelids grew heavy. He was already losing the fight against sleep—

“Oi, don’t you dare, old man!” Yuri laughed and pressed a cold grape against the DJ’s lips.

Otabek blinked rapidly and, once his brain caught up with what was happening, he opened his mouth. He sat up before chewing and swallowing, the sweet flavor of the fruit helping him wake up a bit more, and rearranged the pillow against the headboard so that he could lean back. “I’m up! I’m up!”

“Good,” was all the answer he got, a teasing smile stretching across Yuri’s face as he popped another grape into his own mouth. The blond held his gaze, regarding him for a second longer before asking, “Favorite band?”

He snorted and shook his head. “Really?” Yuri nodded and looked at him expectantly. “Fine, probably Metallica.”

“I knew it!” Otabek simply rolled his eyes and accepted the next treat offered to him. “Your turn,” Yuri whispered, leaning forward to invade Otabek’s mouth, making him forget all about their game.

When their lungs began screaming, they reluctantly separated. Otabek’s hand, which had somehow wound itself into Yuri’s messy locks, was now caressing the other’s jaw. He turned Yuri’s head as his mouth started making its way from his cheek all the way to the blond’s earlobe.

“Mmm.” Otabek answered Yuri’s appreciative hum with one of his own. “What about your question?”

The breathy tone made Otabek smile against Yuri’s neck. “When and where did you learn how to pole dance?”

“Technically two questions, but whatever,” Yuri said. Otabek moved back, pecking him on the lips before resting his tired body against the headboard once more, satisfied with his work. The blush on Yuri’s cheeks was so adorable, he was having trouble holding back a grin. Yuri cleared his throat. “At Lilia Baranovskaya’s dance studio. I’m part of her protégé program. We have classical training in the mornings and we are encouraged to take part in a few classes in the afternoons to _‘expand our horizons’_. When Mila saw the notice advertising the new lessons a year… and a half ago, she signed me up as a joke, thinking I wouldn’t go through with it.”

“Do you still attend those classes?” Otabek asked as he absentmindedly started caressing Yuri’s covered thigh.

The blond nodded. “Not as much lately because we’ve been preparing for a few auditions at the end of next month.”

“Is it difficult?”

Yuri looked thoughtful for a second before shrugging. “I guess it was at the beginning. It was hard to shake off the initial fear of dropping straight to the floor and breaking my neck. I got used to the feeling of being up there quite quickly, though. But don’t get me wrong, when you fall, it still hurts like a bitch.”

“What about thigh chafing?”

Yuri groaned. “The first weeks were _awful,_ don’t remind me.”

Otabek laughed. “Okay, your turn, Yu—”

[A synthesizer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQlIhraqL7o) brought Otabek’s sentence to a stop. They looked at each other with matching, confused frowns, before their eyes travelled up towards the ceiling.

_Sometimes, something beautiful happens in this world_

Otabek rested his head against the wall and had to swallow to push down the laughter threatening to come out. The irony was too much.

_Don’t know how to express yourself so you gotta sing… I just had sex!_

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Yuri sprung from the bed and was already pulling on his sweatpants by the time Otabek located his underwear. “Where’s your broom?” asked Yuri, determination shining in his eyes.

“Come on, let them tease us—”

_Have you ever had sex? I have, it felt great_

Yuri was fuming. “Are you serious right now?”

“They’re trying to get a rise out of us.” Otabek shrugged. The song continued playing above them, but he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from.

“No, _you_ may be okay with this, but I’m not.” Yuri grabbed the closest shirt—which happened to be Otabek’s. _Damn_... When Otabek refocused, Yuri was almost at the bedroom door. “I won’t let them ridicule me.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Otabek said softly as he drew closer, his hands up in a placating gesture. Once he was sure Yuri wasn’t going to lash out at him, he framed the blond’s face with his hands. “That’s exactly what they want. Leave them alone now and they’ll eventually lose interest.”

Yuri groaned and looked away. Otabek waited patiently, his thumbs caressing Yuri’s cheeks in an effort to distract him from the lyrics of the song. But he had to let go when Yuri stepped forward to rest his forehead against his shoulder. Raising his arms, he instead started drawing what he hoped were soothing circles on Yuri’s upper back.

“Ugh, fine! I won’t make a scene, happy?!” Yuri moved back slightly, his eyes still troubled.

“Not quite.” Yuri tilted his head in confusion— _cute_. Otabek grabbed Yuri’s chin and connected their lips in a languid kiss, and Yuri immediately opened his mouth after Otabek’s tongue pressed forward.

After a minute or so, Yuri’s deft fingers made contact with Otabek’s bare torso. He explored leisurely, squeezing here and there as he moved his hands up and down, making his skin tingle.

Yuri’s lips left his and travelled down his jaw before going back up to his ear. “Let’s go back to bed?”

The invitation made goosebumps erupt all over Otabek’s body, and he was about to accept when Yuri’s stomach grumbled. The blond hid his face against Otabek’s neck. “I guess the grapes weren’t enough, huh?” Otabek teased him, a smirk on his face.

Yuri lifted his head, his cheeks tinting. “Shut. Up.”

Otabek ignored the protest and rested his forehead against Yuri’s. “Why don’t we go have dinner, walk around for a bit and get some fresh air instead?”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll see.” Otabek kissed Yuri’s cheek, earning a soft smile in return.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it till the end, pat yourself on the back and eat some chocolate, my friend. You deserve it!
> 
> In case you're curious about Beka’s colourful language:
> 
>  **Шығасың ба?!** (Shygasyn ba?!): You wanna go bro?! (Asking for a fight)  
>  **Сігіл** (Sigil): Go fuck yourself  
>  **Иттің баласы** (Ittin balasy): Child of a dog. Ranging from harmless to offensive depending on the situation.
> 
>  _Grabs the mic_ Now we move onto some very important messages:
> 
> This story would have never seen the light of day if it hadn't been for you, Venom, so thank you for your never-ending encouragement! Love you, boo! <3
> 
> A _massive_ thank you to Tae for being the most patient human in existence and helping me polish this story! <3
> 
> And finally, thank you to the beautiful Superfan fam! That server is one of the most chaotic ones I've ever been a part of and I love it to pieces! Special thank you to Kailyn for her contributions to Chris's comments in French and Scribbles in the margins for her vast knowledge on anything Russian <3


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